Into the Light
by Story Please
Summary: In the years after the war, Hermione lives a dull, gray existence. Little does she know that when she begins to have visions of a figure shrouded in darkness imploring her to find them, her life is about to change in a wholly unexpected manner.


Written for: Bonus Round #1: A Year Is a Wheel

Captain's Round Prompt: Ostara

Prompts chosen:

5: (song) "Wasting My Young Years," by London Grammar

7: (word) entranced

20: (object) bicycle

Word Count: 3,929

Author's Note: According to Wikipedia, Ostara is the second of three spring celebrations (the midpoint between Imbolc and Beltane), during which light and darkness are again in balance, with light on the rise. It is a time of new beginnings and of life emerging further from the grips of winter. As someone who has always had a keen interest in the balance of light and darkness, I hope you enjoy what I have in store for you.

* * *

**Into the Light**

_Find me_.

Someone was calling out to her, but Hermione couldn't see a thing.

There was a flash of light, and for a moment she made out the outline of another person standing in the distance, their hand reaching toward her. Entranced, she held out her hand, but she was too far away.

_Please. Find— _

Hermione sat up abruptly as her alarm clock went off.

"UGH! It's still _dark_ outside!" she groaned, throwing her pillow at the offending clock.

This did not achieve the intended effect. The pillow missed the alarm and hit Crookshanks, who hissed and bit it angrily. A cloud of down escaped the corner of the pillow and Crooks danced about, swiping at the pieces with unsheathed claws. The alarm blared on, but now Hermione didn't even have a pillow to bury her head under.

"FINE!" she shouted, reluctantly dragging herself from her warm, comforting bed.

She'd begun setting the alarm clock across the room because she had a terrible habit of pushing the snooze button and then waking up two hours later in a panic. While she knew logically that she'd never be fired from her job in Magical Law Enforcement because Kingsley would never allow it, she was still filled with an all-encompassing sense of guilt that slowly ate away at her whenever she didn't give it her all every day.

In the years after the war had ended, Hermione had learned that she'd been rather naive about what defeating Voldemort would accomplish. As far as she could tell, there was still a frankly disturbing amount of discrimination towards muggleborns. What was worse, though, was that the right family names seemed to open all manner of doors that would normally be slammed shut in anyone else's face.

_Like the Malfoys,_ Hermione thought bitterly. He and his father had been placed on house arrest for several years and then freed early "for good behavior." Harry, who'd requested to be put on observation duty, had told her through gritted teeth just how many visitors from high stations had come to "visit" the Manor in that time.

"It's like they just don't care!" he'd said, slamming his firewhiskey on the table when they'd met for dinner on the evening of the Malfoys' release.

Hermione wished that she could have soothed him, but her own research had been similarly disheartening. A vast majority of those in power still had ties to the Sacred Twenty-Eight, or to those from pureblooded lines from other countries, and they protected those they perceived as their own.

The alarm silenced and Crookshanks fed to silence his incessant meowing for breakfast, Hermione made her way to the bathroom and turned on the light, wincing until her eyes adjusted. Her apartment was next to a tall hill so it was protected from the elements, but it also seldom got any light. Even though the winter was behind them, her bedroom window would barely get any brighter and to be honest that was how she liked it. She surveyed the dark bags under her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping well. Her job had become more of a chore than a career. She'd assumed she would help to shape a more just Wizarding World using the law to create precedents to protect those without power and reduce injustices.

How naive she'd been.

It had taken a few years, but recently she'd begun leaving work on time or earlier, her dossiers growing less detailed with each case as she realized that none of them were being read or considered by the others.

By anyone who _mattered_.

Hermione washed her face with cold water, and plaited her hair back in a severe braid before grabbing her clothing from a hook on the back of the bathroom door. A couple curls escaped, but she pinned them back with a few well-placed charms. A solemn witch wearing conservative brown robes and tightly-contained hair stared back at her and she sighed.

This wasn't what she'd wanted.

After all they'd gone through, she'd thought that she'd be with her friends forever, but instead she was on her own, only seeing Harry when he wanted to "talk shop" and Ginny was away. Ron had moved to Berlin to run a new branch of the joke shop, and their fledgling relationship had fallen apart easily with the distance. They'd both promised to stay friends, but they rarely ever wrote to one another.

Even Neville was far too busy with his plant hybrids and teaching.

Luna had graduated with honors in her Magical Creatures classes, and faithfully sent postcards from all over the world. The irony that she made the most effort to reach out despite their strained friendship in school was not lost on Hermione.

Everyone seemed to have forgotten the war had ever existed. Harry was expecting his first child soon, and his thoughts of social justice had morphed into endless fears about being an inadequate father.

Hermione glanced at the calendar as she dragged herself into the kitchen to put together her breakfast.

_Ostara._

Spring had come, and in the coming weeks the light would only increase, but Hermione felt only darkness inside of her. There was no one to talk to, save Crooks, but he was a simple creature with simple desires.

She needed _more_.

Hermione warded and locked her front door. She'd been lucky to find a charming little one-room cottage hidden away on the outskirts of London. The rent was reasonable and the landlords were responsive, which was all she cared about. She grabbed her bicycle from the shed and began to pedal. She didn't dare put her hearth on the floo network, not after it had been compromised during the war. Harry called her paranoid, but Hermione had grown up Muggle and a magic fireplace that could be used by anyone at all hours of the day or night was something she wanted nothing to do with.

Hermione enjoyed the frigid rush of air on her skin as she pedaled away. Cycling woke her up in a way that the alarm clock never could. The cold on her skin made her feel serene, unbreakable, and less like she was wasting her young years. And since it was so early, the car traffic was light. Hermione flipped a hidden golden switch on the handlebars to point to "Ministry" as she turned onto Flyte Street, and smiled as a bubbly feeling filled her from her toes to the tips of her ears. Slowly she faded until she was fully invisible and intangible and she could feel the warmth of the runes on the frame as they began to glow. She saw a few other wizards and witches riding similar bicycles before they, too faded. Before her she saw what looked like one white line of a crosswalk, the ground sparking golden as invisible bicycles crossed it like a finish line. Hermione flew forward, her gloomy thoughts banished by the giddy feeling in her stomach.

This would be the closest she would come to feeling truly alive all day.

As she flew over the line, she felt the warm rush of magic pull her up and shoot her through the air. Golden runes hovered all around her, and Hermione found herself entranced by the elegance of the system that Arthur Weasley had created a mere three years prior. There were Cycleflights all over England now, and they were slowly becoming more popular than Apparition, which required a lot more magical energy and could be painful.

_Find me._

Hermione blinked. Surely she was imagining things.

An afterimage of a dark figure appeared in her line of sight as though burned onto her retina after a flash of light.

She blinked again and it was gone.

Something was terribly wrong. The runes were draining of color from gold to gray to black. A strange energy seemed to envelop her body and she could feel all of her hair standing on end. The runes pulsed from black to white to black again, and then...nothing.

Darkness closed in around her and she only had a moment to acknowledge the sense of relief that washed over her before she lost consciousness.

* * *

Death could have been a whole lot worse than it was, at least as far as Severus Snape was concerned. Sure, there was no escape from the dingy room filled with softly bubbling cauldrons, and he never got a moment's rest beyond the odd cat-nap while perched atop an uncomfortable stool, but it wasn't like he needed sleep anyway. Nor did he need to eat. He was dead, after all. Instead he simply brewed and brewed endless potions, then slept for a short time only to find himself in a room filled with empty pots and new ingredients. He'd ceased to think of any reason why this could be, or why he never saw another living soul. If anything, it gave him purpose, and company was overrated anyway.

There were some moments where he longed to catch the scent of the chilly salty air as it drifted in from the sea, or the sensation of a gentle spring rain on his face, but then there would be more work to do and he would do it, glad to get his mind off of the idea of what he was missing in the world of the living.

He was almost through with yet another endless batch, his hands working with well-practiced precision, when an electric hum began to fill the air, and he felt his hair trying to stand on end despite how thick with grease it had become.

A bright light poured from one of the blank walls on the far side of the room. Severus saw it just before it happened— a wheeled contraption protected by a ball of light was barreling right down the center of his brewing room. He only had a moment to throw himself out of the way (_ridiculous_, he realized after he'd done it, for he was already dead, so it wasn't as though it would kill him) before it slammed into the tables, knocking potions every which way and spraying the floor and his robes with all manner of mystery substances.

Severus was not amused. His quiet, simple afterlife had been intruded upon by this...this…

"Hermione Granger?" he asked, as he peered over the figure that had been thrown clear of the bicycle and had landed in a pile of books.

She groaned and then opened her eyes. "Ugh, where am I?"

"Somewhere you should not be," Severus replied with a sneer. He'd finally got his dying wish to be left alone to his own devices and it figured that some nosy student of his would try to meddle with his peace.

"I—there was a malfunction on my bike, and…" She trailed off and looked around. "Am I dead?"

"I certainly hope not. That would mean that you'd be stuck here with me." He grimaced at the thought.

"I thought you were dead," she said, frowning.

"Clever girl. Did you figure that out all by yourself? I would have thought that the venomous snake attack would have tipped you off." He sneered at her, partially annoyed at her observations but also the stab of relief that had gone through him. He actually _missed_ talking to someone else.

Hermione scowled back at him. "You don't have to be rude."

He shrugged, his mouth forming the words before he could think. "And yet, it's preferable to the alternative."

"What, being a decent human being for once in your life?" Hermione was many things, but she was not going to stand around being treated with disrespect by anyone.

"I never said I was," Severus replied.

"You know, Harry said he was thinking of naming one of his children after you!" Hermione shot back.

"Then he is even a bigger fool than I thought!" Severus retorted, a wave of revulsion filling him at the idea of anyone's spawn being cursed with his name.

"You're just...ugh!" Hermione threw up her hands, turned away from him and began repairing her somewhat-mangled bicycle with her wand.

"What are you doing?" Severus asked softly, after a long pause. He hated how disappointed he sounded. Hadn't he wanted to be alone for the rest of eternity?

"All you've done since I appeared here is behave like a petty, insolent child," Hermione said, still not looking at him. "So unless you're willing to speak to me with at least a modicum of respect, then my best bet is to get out of here on my own."

Severus balled his hands into fists. She had _no right _to be angry at _him_! It was true that he'd been rude, but really, could she blame him?

He watched her as she steadfastly ignored him and began to feel very silly indeed.

"I apologize," he said, his voice nearly a whisper.

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you," Hermione replied.

"I said that I apologize. It...it's been awhile since I've spoken to another person...let alone..._you_."

"You say it like it's a bad thing," she replied, grasping onto the handlebars as though trying to force herself to stand upright.

"You came back," he said, trying to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice. "After. You...you did something to me."

She paused. "I'm surprised you were conscious enough to notice."

"The venom paralyzed me, but I assure you, I could hear you singing that spell. What was it, I wonder? I've never heard it before."

"A healing spell. It failed." Her grip on the handles tightened. "Is that why you're haunting me now?"

"I died, then." It was a statement, not a question.

"Not exactly." Hermione's expression was dark. "You...dissolved. A side effect of the spell, at least as far as I could tell. Nobody noticed that your body was gone. I made sure of it. Nobody would think anything of the Shrieking Shack catching fire when there were Death Eaters still at large."

"Please. Sing it for me." The command was soft, but insistent, and he seemed more surprised to say it than she was to hear it.

Hermione sheathed her wand and leaned the bicycle against one of the work tables. For a moment, she seemed to gather her thoughts, and then she opened her mouth and began to sing the spell. Her voice wasn't strong or particularly clear, but the melody touched something deep inside of him. Without the accompanying wand-motions, he knew it wouldn't have any actual effect, but Severus could feel a small thrill of power resonating through his body as she continued, almost as though an invisible thread between them were being plucked. The sensation left him off-kilter yet strangely sated, as though he had been stumbling about in the darkness and had just seen his first sunrise in years.

As she finished, he grasped at his chest, his fingers curling over the fabric of his coat where his heart beat so quickly that he was certain it would burst.

"You fool. What have you done?" he said, his breathing growing heavy and fast, and then he fell forward and knew no more.

* * *

Hermione caught him (_Headmaster? Professor? Snape? Just Severus?_ How, exactly was one supposed to address someone that was supposed to be dead?) as he fell forward, her skin singing where she touched him. But she pushed the intrusive thoughts aside. She couldn't think about any of that, not when she was in danger of collapsing. Despite how thin and wiry he appeared, she still had a bit of trouble getting him over to the small cot in the corner. She laid him out on the makeshift bed, which was freshly made, and noted that it didn't seem as though he slept often. As she sat at the edge of the bed, wondering if she should rouse him, she realized that the already dim light in the room began to lessen until she could barely see the floor around the cot. When she held out her wand to illuminate the area around them, the tables beyond seemed to have a thin, flat quality to them. Her bicycle seemed to be the only real object in the room, but even it seemed to be oddly far away.

The darkness pushed around them, and Hermione brightened her wand tip only to feel a strange floating sensation as the darkness fought back against it. The floor was still there under her feet, but everything else seemed to have been swallowed up.

A sinking, wrong feeling of filled her belly and she pointed her wand at Snape's head.

"Enervate," she whispered, and he shot up, his face wild with confusion. One of his flailing hands knocked away her wand, and she cried out, lunging forward to grab it. A hand grabbed the back of her robes and pulled her back, causing her to land on his lap.

"You can't," he hissed, then, "_Accio Hermione Granger's wand_."

Her wand flew slowly back towards them as though it were being pulled through water, the tip still lit. Snape caught it in one hand, and Hermione realized, then, that there were droplets of darkness clinging to the wand. He brushed them off, and the droplets fled the light like living creatures. She shuddered as the light held the darkness at bay.

"The spell you sang," he said carefully, "Do you know what it does?"

"It saves a life," Hermione replied primly, "but you have to want it to work with your entire soul. I learned it because I knew that Voldemort was going to do his damnedest to kill Harry, and there was no way I was going to let that happen. I wasn't thinking straight. When Nagini attacked you...I...I thought you might know something that could defeat Voldemort once and for all and I tried to save you...and I meant it then...with my whole soul. Because a life is a life, even if it is yours."

He seemed to absorb her words with little more than a nod of acceptance. "That spell...it doesn't save a life," he said. "It binds someone dying into a place of healing and siphons off the soul-energy of the caster until they are healed."

"You were dead!" Hermione exclaimed.

"If I was," he retorted, "Neither of us would be here. Instead, you tied your soul to your hated professor in a fit of panic, and I have been wasting years with my mind clouded while the magic works upon me." He laughed humorously. "I knew that death couldn't be this easy."

She was quiet for a long moment, her fists clenched. "I don't hate you."

"Is that so? I was under the impression that you disliked me immensely."

"It's what you wanted, isn't it?" In the flickering light, their faces were only inches apart, so she caught it when his eyes darted away. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"I just wanted to be left alone," he said. "But you can't stop yourself from meddling, can you, Miss Granger?"

"Hermione," she said, "I haven't been a student in years, you know."

"Hermione then," he said, his voice barely a whisper, and she wasn't sure if she was more shocked that he'd done as she asked or that he said her name in a way that made her heartbeat quicken. "I wouldn't know. I've been here. Wherever 'here' is." His shoulders slumped. "I've been a fool."

"So...the spell…" It wouldn't have been the first time she'd used magic incorrectly. There was so much nuance that she missed from not having grown up in the magical world.

He raised his hand and placed it over his heart. "Surely, you can feel it too?"

Hermione felt her cheeks warm as she realized what he meant. "But…"

She reached out to touch his hand and he shook his head. "Don't. It will only make it worse. The magic has been tying my life to your energy for years. It isn't real, how we feel. It's just magic."

"What does this mean?"

"For better or worse, we're linked." He refused to look at her.

"Well, first we need to get out of this place," Hermione said, pointing her wand over to where the bicycle had been. It glowed faintly golden as she did so. "_Accio bicycle_!"

Nothing happened, but she began to see the darkness pushing against the light of her wand, bubbling like oil on the floorboards. She tucked her legs up onto the mattress with a sound of disgust.

Snape was hugging himself as though he were cold and muttering "It's too late," over and over again.

"Professor," she said, but when he didn't reply, she raised her voice. "Snape!" He did not respond. "We need to do something! Look at me!"

He averted his gaze. With a frustrated growl, she grabbed his shoulder and a sudden pulse of heat and light shot up her arm and into her chest, humming with power. Suddenly, she knew just what to say. "Severus, please," she implored.

He met her eyes with a combination of fear and matching desire. His hand moved to cup her face, but he still held it back from quite touching her. "I...we...shouldn't…" he grit out.

"Look at the darkness," she said, pointing with her free hand. Where she was touching him a line of power arced from her body to his, and a light flickered over their clothing where their hearts beat. The darkness bubbled away from the floor a few inches. "Please, Severus. Touch me."

She could see the moment where his resolve broke against the power of his need, and the moment his fingers nestled under her jaw and he pulled her lips to his, an all-encompassing beam of light shone out in all directions, pushing the darkness away with a force of power that left them both senseless and seeing stars.

But neither of them cared, for there was only one another, in this moment, and the rest of world was nothing in the face of their desire.

* * *

Hermione awoke to bright sunlight shining in the window and smiled softly. She rolled over and found long arms wrapping around her body and snuggling her close.

"I missed you," Severus said, kissing her hair.

"I missed you too," she replied kissing his nose.

"I'm sure that's just the magic talking," he replied, but she could tell from his playful tone of voice that he wasn't being serious.

"I can do a lot more than talking," she murmured, kissing him long and slow until he gave up on giving her a snarky retort altogether.

Ever since they had woken up in a heap on a grassy hill miles from home that past Ostara, their life together hadn't always been smooth sailing, but they'd both built a modest life that was suited their need for solitude—and one another— far better than before. Hermione still rode her bicycle regularly, but now it was only for pleasure, as she and Severus had begun their own apothecary by owl together. Hermione also wrote for various journals to bring in a little extra cash, but they had all they needed in their small cottage in the country. Now, the sun always rose each morning in their bedroom window, and with the coming of Ostara, they both knew that each day following, it would grow lighter bit by bit once more, just like the life they shared and love they had for each other.


End file.
